LOVE'S LABOUR LOST
Prosperity attended the voyage; if that term may be applied to recovery
of health. The sea-air--genial companionship had something to do with
it--was pulling Dick round. He said he was a new man; received assurance
of that fact from inspection of his reflection in the mirror.
Although his story was no longer visible on his face, it was in his
heart; hidden away perhaps, but there still. He had left the
stepping-stones of milk and beef-tea a long way behind; was walking
through square meals as vigorously as any man aboard.
The friendship opened up in the little two-berth cabin had developed
into the closest kind. On one side it had started garbed in the mantle
of pretence. That was soon shed; sincerity taking its place.
Dick's fidelity was dog-like; he followed his companion about as if
loath to lose sight of him. Masters had discovered in him artistic
tendencies; the ability to draw well. It was long before Dick's hand
ceased to remind one of a jelly; when it did, Masters asked, would Dick
oblige him by doing something?
Oblige him? Dick repeated the question. Great Scott! Was there anything
he could ask which he, Dick, wouldn't jolly well jump at the chance of
doing. What did Charleigh take him for?
The story Masters was engaged on was to be illustrated; sketches were
needed of the proposed drawings. So the author said, speaking quite
casually.
As a matter of fact, he was anxious to find occupation for idle hands.
Feared the provision, if he did not himself provide it, of less
profitable work. Remembered a proverb to that effect: Satan filling a
stellar part in it.
"Let me make them for you, will you?" Dick spoke eagerly. "I can draw
properly, really; I've had drawings in the _Strand_ and _Windsor_, and
they're particular, you know. I did it because I loved the work; I had
to give it up, because my hand----"
Masters interrupted him; was ever anxious to prevent a harking back to
the old days of failure. Wanted his protégé to look forward, not
backward: at the brightness ahead, not on the horror which he hoped was
for ever left behind.
"My dear Dick, a thousand thanks! I shall be only too glad if you will."
That was the commencement of an even closer intercourse; the drawings
drew them together. The sketches had to be thought out and considered.
On smooth days were worked at with pencil on paper.
Dick's was really a skilled hand. And that hand of his--he took immense
pride in the fact--was steady now. The ability is not given to every
artist to do line work on a boat. The throbbing from the engine room
usually permeates every part of the vessel.
So the two men would sit on deck, one writing and the other drawing.
Sometimes the author's pen would suddenly cease work; cease for quite a
while. Dick respected those pauses; imagined Charleigh to be thinking
out the details of his work.
He was wrong. Masters was thinking of Miss Mivvins. Remorseful thoughts;
remorse that he had ever wounded that generous, sweet soul; ever added
by his harsh words to her burden of sorrow. Vainly regretful thoughts:
regret that he had not met her earlier in life. A sigh usually marked
Masters' emergence from dreamland. If he did not directly pick up his
work again, his companion would open up conversation; one day said:
"I call you Prince, old fellow, because you told me to. Is it a nickname
or your real name?"
Masters smiled; the sweet innocence of his godmother occurred to him; he
said:
"Which do you think, now?"
"Well, I can't help thinking that Prince Charleigh seems too happy a
combination to be the real thing. Real godmothers and godfathers don't
hit on those things usually."
"Mine did not. Yet all the same I was christened, quite recently,
Prince."
"Ah!" Dick's eyes sparkled; he fancied himself a discoverer. "I'll bet
you a new hat I can guess the sex of the christener--a girl?"
"Splendid marksman! A bull's eye! Hit the centre of the target first
time!"
A merry twinkle found place in the younger man's eyes as he inquired:
"Engaged to her, old fellow?"
"Well----"
Masters paused. Then, with a quiet smile and a long puff at his pipe,
completed his sentence:
"We have spoken of marriage."
"Soon?"
"M'no. She's very young."
The quiet smile broadened on Masters' face; he remembered how very
young!
"I have been writing this morning to my girl," said Dick. "We shall
touch port today for stores, and be able to post letters, the Captain
says."
"So I gathered."
"Did your ears burn this morning, old chap? My letter was full of you."
"Was it?"
Masters started; was troubled. His pipe was being smoked more vigorously
than ever; he continued:
"I am sorry for that."
"Why? I told my girl who was responsible for my salvation. You.... Ah,
don't shake your head, Prince. My living, my being here on this deck
alive, sane, and, thank God! with a feeling of manhood strong in me, is
due to you. But for you, I should have gone overboard.... Yes, I know
it; I want you to know that I know it. I can never repay you, that's out
of the region of possibility, but you might like to feel that you took a
fellow-creature out of the slough, even if the fellow isn't worth much.
You saved my life and you've made it worth living--to me, at any rate."
He spoke with a catch in his voice; gratitude moved him. So earnest was
his speech of thankfulness that it moved Masters also; Dick went on:
"I came aboard with the knowledge in my heart that I should make a hole
in the water. I got my girl up to London, the only friend that has stuck
to me, to say good-bye to her. And I meant it, Prince; meant it for a
final good-bye, a good-bye for ever. Thanks to you, old chap, that's a
thing of the past; the shadow has passed away."
"I hope, Dick--nay, more than hope--I am confident, never to return."
"I pray God so, Prince! I do! I do! I say that reverently. I pray God
so. I'm a bit fearful of when this trip is over; just a bit; that's all
that's wrong with me. You've been my anchor; I don't know how I shall
ride on a tempting sea without you. You are not as other men--no, let me
say it--I have clung to you, Prince, old fellow, like--well, like the
ivy clings to the oak. I can't help thinking, when the oak's gone what's
to become of the ivy."
"You'll go back home well, and find other ties."
Then he gave utterance to the phrase which had been persistently ringing
in his ears so long:
"You will go back well enough to marry."
Dick started; smiled. The memory of that last interview came back to him
too; he answered:
"That's what my girl says, Prince. But I don't feel at all like
marrying: I'm not that sort."
"Not--that--sort!"
It seemed to Masters as if all the blood in his body suddenly turning
scalding hot and black-coloured; filled his veins to bursting point. He
sat quite still, motionless; fearful that if he moved, loosened for one
instant his hold on himself, his feelings would be too much for him.
His trip, his care for Dick then, was so much labour thrown away.... He
must keep that feeling, that desire to rush at the boy's throat and
choke his worthless life out, keep it down. Nothing would be gained by
loss of temper. It is the cool hammer which fashions the red-hot iron;
he knew that, yet did not dare to look at his companion.
His stylographic pen was not of the best make; perhaps resented being
held down so. The ink ran from it and made a blot on the paper. Although
conscious of its existence he allowed the size of the blot to increase;
still he made no movement.... At last he spoke; spoke so huskily that
Dick looked up from his sketch. The moment he did so, he cried:
"Prince! Good God, old chap, what's the matter? Prince! Prince! You are
ill!"
"I am quite well. Sit down; I am all right I tell you. I want to talk to
you."
"Rot!"
The boy scrambled to his feet impatiently, looking in amazement at the
white, drawn expression on his companion's face; continued:
"You're ill. Think I am blind? Come to the cabin and lie down."
"Sit down."
"Not for half a second!"
As he answered he was cramming the drawing materials into his pocket;
continued:
"If you want to talk come into the cabin and lie down. I'll talk to you
there till the doctor comes."
"Doctor! Don't be absurd! I am all right. I want to talk to----"
"Then come right along into the cabin out of this sun; talk there. It's
my turn to give orders. I'm going."
He moved away as he spoke, throwing a glance over his shoulders: an
anxious look. He was fearing greatly for the man whom he had grown to
love.
Masters rose; staggered up really. That hot black blood seemed to rise
with him, right up to his brain. Had the effect of making things go
whirling round and round for a minute. Then with an immense effort he
pulled himself together. Better perhaps in the cabin, out of earshot.
He must have his talk out with Master Dick.